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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134615">The Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinmangerer/pseuds/erinmangerer'>erinmangerer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlander &amp; Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Married Sex, POV Claire, Roleplay, Shameless Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:55:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinmangerer/pseuds/erinmangerer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally, Claire and Jamie like to play games.  There may be some plot in the midst of all this smut, but not much.  Definitely NSFW.  (This is completely unedited so all mistakes are mine!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>233</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I know him. And I don’t just mean that in the basic sense. I know Jamie Fraser about as well as you can know another human being. And I would say he knows me just as well.</p><p>It’s not just because we’ve known each other forever. There are times when it is truly difficult for me to remember a time when my life did not have him in it. In my more philosophical moments, I wonder if it is because my life did not truly begin until the day he walked into it. It’s not just because we’re married, although that has given us a lot of new ways to know each other. It is difficult to describe how his life and mine are intertwined, connected on every plane, almost as if our very cells draw energy from a common source.</p><p>That’s why it’s so fun for us to play games with each other. Role playing games, to be specific. Both of us are well past the point in our lives where we would be picking up a random stranger in a bar. But that doesn’t mean we can’t <em>pretend</em> we are. And because we know each other as well as we do, we can tempt and tease and torment each other and know that we are completely safe.</p><p>All the reward, none of the risk. And, if I may say so, some truly mind-blowing sex to boot.</p><p>We started playing this particular game a little over a year after we got married. Neither of us have ever had any complaints about our sex life (this is almost ridiculous in its understatement- I am married to a bloody Greek god of a man whose commitment to my pleasure should get some sort of humanitarian award). But I’d heard too many stories about married couples getting bored and complacent with sex and I was committed to not becoming a statistic. Jamie thought my concern was perhaps a bit extreme, but he was willing to give it a try for my sake.</p><p>First time out, I gave him a hand job in the back seat of a taxi, and he was hooked.</p><p>The rules are simple. Either of us can initiate the game at any time by simply sending the other a text message. The message can only contain the name and address of a bar and the meeting time. The person who sends the message is the one who is getting “picked up” by the other. We do not pretend to be other people- Jamie insisted on this and I fully agree with him. I always want him to know that <em>he</em> is the one who is turning me on, not some make-believe version of him. We simply pretend, for a time, to be strangers.</p><p>I just sent him the next location. Tonight, the game is on.</p><p> </p><p>I arrived early to get myself a seat at the bar. I also had to allow for time to swing by our flat after work for a quick change into something more suitable for our evening. The place was new, close to home, and had a modern but relaxed vibe I was already enjoying. The bar surface itself was poured concrete, polished to a gleaming finish, protected from my whisky on the rocks by a bright green cocktail napkin instead of the standard white. I held up my glass, listened to the clink of the ice cubes against the sides, and appreciated the fact that I couldn’t see even a hint of my dark raisin lip color on it (I made a mental note to thank Louise for her recommendation). The heels of my tall leather boots clicked against the metal bar stool as I re-crossed my ankles. I smoothed my hand over my hair, enjoying the novelty of having my wild curls tamed straight for one of the few times in my life. It would help with the illusion we were supposed to be creating tonight, even if Jamie had already seen it.</p><p>I didn’t even have to turn towards the door to know when he arrived. To me, it was as if the very air in the room changed, became supercharged. Or maybe it was that cellular connection of ours that made it feel like my blood was playing a lively game of chase in my veins. I was barely aware of the fact that I straightened up on the bar stool. I was <em>very </em>aware of the fact that I pressed my legs together a little bit tighter against the low throb that had already begun to pulse at my center. I felt him come up beside me and I finally turned to look at him as he said simply, “Is this seat taken?” And even though I’d known he was moving towards me, my breath caught, and I had to clear my throat and simply gesture with my hand for him to sit. I wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but every time he approached me this way in our game it was truly like seeing him for the first time. His all black outfit with his black and white trainers somehow struck the perfect blend of casual and refined for the environment and the idea that he’d known, that he’d prepared, turned me on even more. His hair was short, shorter than I usually preferred, but still long enough on top to give me a glimpse of the curls I craved. They caressed his forehead and tickled his ears and neck the way I longed to do, and I wanted my hands in them <em>badly</em>. Suddenly, my long plaid coat was entirely too warm, and I had to stop myself from holding my glass up to my forehead to try to cool myself off. And suddenly, this felt like it might not have been the best idea. Maybe I should have just gone home from work and jumped him when he walked in the door. Was I really going to be able to have the patience go through this charade?</p><p>But I knew from experience- the anticipation would make the result even more satisfying.</p><p>Thankfully, he spoke again before I had to attempt it since I still hadn’t found my voice. “Would ye like me to take yer coat for ye, lass? Ye look a little . . . flushed.” I laughed in response to that, a full, throaty laugh, the kind I only ever found with Jamie because it’s the kind a woman gives when she knows her power. And since I saw him adjust himself ever so subtly on his barstool, he knew it too. “I don’t think that would be the best idea, but thank you,” I told him. He cocked an eyebrow at that, just one, his blue eyes flashing in amusement. “And why not?” he asked. I ran my finger around the rim of my glass where it sat on the bar and met his gaze head-on. “Perhaps I will tell you . . . later.” He inclined his head in acknowledgement and signaled the bartender. “Well then, I will try to keep ye around long enough to find out. Can I buy ye another round, Miss . . .?”</p><p>“Beauchamp. Claire Beauchamp,” I told him, using my maiden name, just as I would have if we’d never met. “And yes, you certainly may, Mister . . .?”</p><p>“Fraser. James Fraser, but I’m Jamie to my friends.”</p><p>“Am I allowed to call you Jamie? I’m not sure if I qualify as a friend since we just met.”</p><p>“I’ll tell ye what, lass- let me buy ye a drink and then ye’ll be considered a friend. Deal?”</p><p>“Deal,” I told him, then he looked at the bartender and said, “Two of whatever the lady is having.” He turned towards me- his whole body, not just his head. He wasn’t uncomfortably close by any means, but the sense of his nearness was thrilling. It also made it perfectly clear that I had his full attention. “So, Claire Beauchamp, how did a Sassenach wind up living in Edinburgh?” Since our drinks arrived at that moment, I said, “Oh, a Sassenach, am I? That’s not very complimentary, <em>Jamie</em>. I thought we were friends now that you’ve bought me a drink.” I said it with enough tease in my voice that he knew I wasn’t truly upset, and he smirked. JESUS H. ROOSEVELT CHRIST that smirk. Even though he was guaranteed to be successful in his pursuit of me, he used every weapon at his disposal. And that smirk was deadly. I took a gulp of my drink. “I meant nae offense. It’s just pretty obvious yer not from around here, aye?” I nodded and told him, “I came here after my uncle died because we’d visited here when I was younger, and I fell in love with Scotland. I wanted to put down roots somewhere since I moved around a lot when I was a kid. And I guess you could say I did that literally- I own a nursery and flower shop.” It didn’t matter that he’d already heard this story long ago, knew about the pain of my parents’ death when I was five and how my Uncle Lamb raised me all over the world on his archeological digs. He knew about my love of plants and flowers and how I almost always seemed to be digging in the ground wherever I landed. He kept his eyes on me, nodded along while I spoke, and overall made me feel like there was nothing else going on that was as important as our conversation. And maybe, I thought to myself, that was the real aphrodisiac in this game- it reminded me of all the reasons I’d fallen in love with him in the first place.</p><p>As we bantered back and forth, that cellular connection seemed to turn magnetic. We kept moving our stools closer together, our hands seeking each other’s skin (his rhythmically stroking the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist, mine reaching to play with a curl and lingering to stroke the top of his ear), our feet gently swinging into the space between us to become entangled as we both envisioned the rest of our bodies doing the same. The whisky was pleasantly buzzing in my system, making me feel loose and languid. When the conversation reached a lull, his eyes met mine and held and I felt like I was drowning. Then he leaned closer to my ear and said, “Can I confess something to ye?” The tickle of his breath on my skin made me shiver and I nuzzled into him and murmured my consent. “I would verra much like to take ye home with me. May I?” I forced myself to lean back so he could see my face and said, very slowly and clearly, “Yes.” I already felt like I was on fire and he hadn’t even kissed me yet. He quickly settled the bar tab and we moved to the door, his hand settled squarely and warmly in the small of my back. The air outside was a bit of a shock, brisk and refreshing, and helped to clear my head a bit. But then he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side as we walked, and my head felt muddled for a completely different reason. “It’s no far,” he told me, and his voice seemed to have taken on a different timbre, one I knew meant his blood was stirring just as mine was.</p><p>When we reached the outer door of our building, Jamie stepped into the dull light to put the key in the lock to let us in. Standing there, I suddenly couldn’t bear to not be touching him, and I came up behind him, wrapped my arms around his waist and lifted on my toes. My back pressed into his front and he pressed his free hand over mine, trying however he could to get us closer. I moved my mouth around to his ear and whispered, “You know why I didn’t want you to take my coat earlier?” He turned his attention away from the key, turning his face closer to mine, and said, “Nah. Why?” And with my best impersonation of his smirk, I answered in an even lower whisper, “Because I’m not wearing anything underneath it.”</p><p>It was as if I’d snapped something in him.</p><p>He spun around in my arms, my grip loosening automatically, and crushed his lips to mine. We let out twin groans and he used the opening to plunder my mouth with his tongue. I locked my arms around him and pulled up to fit my body to his, and even through my coat I could feel the hard insistence of him already pushing against me. He allowed me to walk him back against the still unopened door and I immediately started rocking my hips into him, needing friction but only feeling it dimly. I was <em>done</em> with the damn coat being in my way. So, I dragged my lips from his and panted, “Door. Now.” I noticed when he turned back to open it that his hand trembled before he inserted the key in the lock, and I didn’t know if I had ever been more turned on in my life. The door shook from the force of him bursting through it, reaching back to grab my hand and pull me through behind him. But our flat may as well have been on the other side of the world- I hadn’t an ounce of patience left. We were fortunate enough to live in a building with a small central courtyard, since the idea of living without any outdoor space, even in the city, was unfathomable to me. Before he could continue down the hall to the stairs leading up to our flat, I pulled him into the small vestibule leading to the courtyard door. It was the closest place to get any sort of cover, but we were still very much exposed, visible to anyone who came down the hallway. And this wasn’t just any random building. This was <em>our</em> building. We knew our neighbors and they knew us, and we would have to face them tomorrow if any of them caught us.</p><p>The chance of discovery made the game that much more thrilling.</p><p>The question in his eyes, and the one that may have been forming on his lips, died when I pushed him against the wall and started unbuttoning his pants. I yanked at them and his boxer briefs, freeing his erection as I dropped to my knees. I stroked him lightly with my fingers just for a moment, just so I could bask in the sight of him, and I felt a tremor pass through him. I looked up at him and smiled like a cat who’d just been given an entire bowl of cream. Then I took him into my mouth, and I knew nothing but him- the taste of him, the feel of him on my tongue, the texture and warmth of his flesh. His slightly strangled, “Fuck, Claire,” seemed to reverberate off the walls around us in the small space, but I continued to play, replacing my mouth with my hand on his shaft while my tongue traced patterns on his balls in the way I knew drove him wild. I wanted to devour him, to consume him, and his response fueled my own arousal. And then he was pulling me up his body and spinning me so that my back was against the wall. “My turn, <em>a neighan</em>,” he said, and with a brief peek over his shoulder to make sure we were still alone, he opened the belt of my coat and let it fall open. The air rushed in and pebbled my skin and he took a step backward to look at me. He stroked himself once, twice, and I thought I could come just from that, just from watching his hunger overtake him in such a way. He came toward me slowly, like a predator, and used a hand in my hair to tilt my head to one side. He nibbled up my neck and over my jaw until he reached my ear, sucking on my lobe briefly and causing me to shudder.</p><p>Then, very quietly, his breath in my ear, he said, “Turn around. Put yer hands on the wall.”</p><p>I did as he asked and felt like I stopped breathing as I waited for him to make his move. I felt the back of my coat go up, but only briefly. Everything after that seemed to happen in one motion. He rose up from underneath me, hooked my leg over his shoulder, and plunged his tongue into me, his hands coming up to grip my hips and pull me down onto him. I slapped the wall with both hands and made a noise that didn’t even sound human, throwing my head back like a wolf howling at the moon. I didn’t even have time to be embarrassed over the fact that my inner thighs were already coated in moisture, that he would know that I’d been wet for him for hours. When he started moving my hips back and forth, the pressure of his fingers hard enough that I knew I would be bruised the next day, I got the message. I started rocking myself over him, using the wall to assist, riding his face as he swirled and dipped and darted and lapped his tongue and lips over my pussy. The pressure building inside me was so intense I felt like I was about to disintegrate. My hands were uselessly clawing at the wall, as if I could climb it like Spiderman, trying to escape and yet never wanting to escape the release I knew was inevitable. Finally, he stilled me with his hands and focused all his attention on my clit, and when he added a tiny nip of his teeth I shattered, biting down on the collar of my coat to absorb my screaming.</p><p>Since I was barely standing and barely coherent, it was easy for him to maneuver my body away from the wall enough that he was able to come to standing in front of me. When he kissed me, the melding of his flavor and mine in my mouth was even more intoxicating than the whisky at the bar. The feel of his clothing against my skin was delicious and I wrapped myself around him as much as I could manage, the fabric rubbing against my nipples and making me start to throb all over again. I could still feel his erection against me, and I realized how desperate he must be for some relief. The more we kissed, I realized how desperate I <em>still</em> was for more of him despite the release I’d experienced only minutes earlier. He pulled away from my lips and leaned his forehead into mine, both of us gasping for breath. “It’s alright?” he asked. I pulled in a breath that seemed to clog in my throat, overwhelmed. Even though this wasn’t our first time, even though we were married, even though he was mine and I was his in every possible way, he would not come inside me without permission. My heart cracked and expanded and poured out in joy and disbelief over the astounding fact of this man. I pulled him with me until my back was against the opposite wall, then lifted my leg around his hip and guided him to my slit with my hand. And I answered him in the only way I knew how, ending the game in my overflow of emotion. “I love you, Jamie,” I sighed, and brought him home to me.</p><p>He lifted my other leg until I was completely off the ground and held me under my arse, my boots locked together around his waist as he bounced me up and down, filling me, easing and building my ache all at once. I knew I was being noisy and didn’t care, the small vestibule filled with the sounds of our grunts, gasps, and moans, the slap of our flesh as we came together. Then Jamie froze, and it took me a moment to realize why. The jingle of keys. The sound of footsteps. We were no longer alone, and we were about to be discovered. And for some reason, I found the idea hilarious. He saw the look in my eyes and smiled and I felt him start to shake as I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle the sound of my laughter. The curiosity was killing me though, so I had to raise my head. We got lucky. Our neighbor, Mr. McInnes, was looking down at his phone as he passed us, completely oblivious to our presence, and then we heard his footfalls start to fade as he climbed the stairs. Then we both laughed, unable to help ourselves, until tears leaked from our eyes. But eventually we laughed hard enough that he moved deeper inside me again and I gasped. He picked up the pace then, driving into me hard and fast, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders and fucked back on him. Everything about him- breathing, thrusting, grip- grew ragged, and I knew he was close.</p><p>As I expected, he refused to go alone.</p><p>When he shuddered out, “<em>Oh Christ, Claire</em>,” and slowed to near stillness, he removed one hand from my arse and brought it between our bodies. My flesh was still so sensitive from earlier that with the lightest pressure on my clit I exploded. He followed me as soon as I began to tighten around him, pouring himself into me, his arms shuddering with the effort to keep holding me up. If I’d had the strength to open my eyes, I would have half expected to see particles of my body like shrapnel scattered all around our still-entwined bodies. He slowly let me back down to the ground, but as I slid down his body and he groaned I knew we weren’t done for the night yet. But now that the urgency from the game had been satisfied, it was time to go home. He peppered several small kisses over my face before we put ourselves back together enough to make it up to our flat. Then he smiled at me as he stroked my hair back from my face and said, “I love ye with all my heart and soul, my own, but sometimes I do wonder if yer not tryin’ to kill me.” I laughed and kissed him soundly before linking my arm with his and heading for the stairs. “I guess that means you liked my little twist to the game tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Later that night, in the quiet inky dark of our bedroom, he lay me down and made love to me gently, slowly, whispering words of love and need and devotion. We fell asleep tangled together and the next morning he handed me a cup of coffee and kissed me on the forehead as I settled onto one of the barstools in our kitchen. “So, I met this amazing guy last night,” I told him, and he raised his eyebrow and smirked that delicious smirk of his. “Oh, aye? And what did ye do with him?”</p><p>“Well, I fucked him, naturally.”</p><p>“Did ye now? And what should we do about that then?”</p><p>“Oh, there’s no need to do anything about it. I already handled it in the most brilliant way possible.”</p><p>“That doesna surprise me one bit, Sassenach, as ye are the most brilliant woman in the world. So how did ye handle it?”</p><p>“I married him.”      </p>
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